


Aftermath

by michaelWayland



Series: Mentor? More Like High Profile Dad in Disguise [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Depression, Dissociation, Explicit Language, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Traumatized Peter Parker, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelWayland/pseuds/michaelWayland
Summary: Spiderman is everything Peter wants to be.Spiderman is clean.Spiderman is never filthy.Spiderman is in control of his own body.Spiderman is strong.Spiderman is never a victim.Spiderman fucks up, but he bounces back.Because Penis Parker is trash.Penis Parker's own body and mind betrays him.Penis Parker is weak.Penis Parker is a victim.Penis Parker fucks up and fucks up and fucks upAnd he can't be a hero if he always ends up being a victim.





	1. Aftertaste

**Author's Note:**

> Special Shout-out to PixenGreen. I love you, you are appreciated, and thank you for disclosing your personal experience to me for the sake of this part in this series.
> 
> So, this part deals with the aftermath of Spiked. This story deals with the aftermath of rape, as well as the other concepts attached to it like depression. If any of the stuff in the tags both from here or from Spiked offends or triggers you, then for your own good, feel free to exit.

The first thing Peter did as soon as they arrived to the compound was to run a bath. Mr. Stark didn't even questioned him; he even offered to let him borrow his bubble bath, but Peter kindly declined. He just needs to feel clean, and he's already taking too much from Mr. Stark anyway. With a deep sigh, and tired puffy eyes closed, he excused himself and headed for the room Mr. Stark has lent him. There was barely anything inside the place, save for a spare backpack and a  pair of sneakers as well as the comfy bed with its thick comforter. He thinks that the bedroom will reek of dust, and the bed will pop up the stuff in clouds when he gets to lay down on it again, because he rarely ever sleeps in the compound — overnights from over working on upgrades and repair are a rare occurrence. No way is Mr. Stark going to bother maintaining the room for a sloppy intern, right?

He was surprised, to say the least, when he unlocked the door, and when Friday automatically turned the lights for him, to see his cold bedroom floor shiny and slippery. His battered sneakers were sitting on a rug beside the door neatly, and his backpack was hung on a peg attached to the door — and Peter is pretty sure he left it sitting on the bed the last time he slept over. His nose caught the faint whiff of lemon-scented disinfectant lingering inside the room, as well as the soft tang of Windex sprawled over the window that doubles as a wall, which should give him an ample view of the estate if he asks. His bedside drawers are dusted to an inch, and the bed is made, its pure white sheets un-stained with dust. His mind and his body feels too numb, and the dull throbbing sensation in his muscles are still there, but he found the scents welcoming, despite how the room looks _awfully_ similar to...where he has been.

Peter allowed the comforter wrapped snugly around him fall on the floor as he tore his gaze away from the bed. Bile is threatening to burst out of his stomach now that he thought about it. He made a sprint for the bathroom with buckling knees, locked it with trembling fingers, crouched down the toilet bowl, and puked. His stomach retched as he hurled more fluids out, the stink so strong it brought tears in his burning eyes — that had to be the reason, right? — and urged him to puke some more. Gripping the sides of the seat, he flipped his stomach as pain racked his body, the kind of pain that he feels when he dreams; he knows it isn't real, and it's not happening, but his limbs still burned, water with the consistency of cough syrup filled his lungs, his own blood left his body in places where it shouldn't go out, his muscles ached, his bones snapped, his insides cracked.

Except...it happened.

The realization made him yell out a gurgling cry as he emptied his body with filth while landing a few punches onto his own torso. His hand found the flush and pressed it when he's puking out air, which makes for a rather unpleasant sound. Peter rested his forehead on the bowl's rim and closed his eyes. His whole body sagged as he took a deep shaky breath, which feels like warm poison inside his throat. Peter focused on the cold bathroom tiles biting at him to rid the warmth invading every inch of his skin. He focused on the icy feeling deep inside of him to rid himself of the fiery anger directed at his own body for betraying him over and over again without remorse.

It didn't worked.

Peter threw his head back. The loud thud vibrated against his ears, and the back of his skull throbbed, but it did helped on drowning the voices inside his head, even for a while. He weakly stood up, steadied himself on the bathroom sink and ran the faucet. Dizzily, he cupped his hand over the running water and poured some into his mouth, gargled with it, then spat it out. Coughing, he stared at his reflection on the mirror.

There he was, wide red-rimmed eyes staring back at him. His disheveled curly hair is in all directions, and tear tracks are running through his blotchy pale cheeks. Sobbing, he stared at his reflection's eyes, trying to understand why his rotten luck had given him this. There was a buzzing in his head, and Peter ended up drawing a blank. Tornado swirls and tangled circles ran inside his head in ink black. His gaze made the mistake of landing at the purple bruises blossoming on his pale neck and chest, and he nearly barfed again. He can't risk it, for if he literally puked his guts and intestines out, what else would be left of him?

His shady brain, his treacherous senses, his battered heart, his noodle limbs, his spineless body.

Sighing, Peter took a few steps to the roomy ceramic tub and turned the faucet on. He curled on to himself on the sides and hugged his knees. When he realized that the water isn't cold enough as it soaked his warm skin, he reached out and adjusted it to the temperature he deems appropriate — water so icy it would scrape away the stickiness that clung to him like sewage mud, so wintry it would douse the explosions inside his body, so freezing it would suspend him in a state where he could gather his own thoughts. Static hummed inside the hollows of his brain as his vision is flooded with more tornado swirls.

He needs time to stop.

How else is he gonna process all this? His insides were melting in the worst way, his brain is flashing him memories he'd rather not recall, his heart is leaking his own blood as it pumps from the pinpricks all over its surface, his skin is chafing him, his eyes see things he doesn't want to see, nose smelling things he'd rather not smell again, mouth tasting the bitter taste of betrayal with a side of loathing, ears hearing everything and nothing at the same time. Now that he thought of it, those things are what he only seems to excel at.

_You don't want your Uncle Ben to get hurt, right, Einstein?_

Blood on the bathroom floor. Blood on the cobblestone. Blood from his broken nose. There's too much blood, _there's too much blood!_

Peter felt his insides explode. He can only go nuclear inside when Uncle Bed dropped dead on the rough pavement or when Flash jeered at him or when Skip manipulated his traitorous body like it's clay. The surface of his skin was used to the chafing, thanks to Flash's goons hanging him on a pole through his underwear and the rope burns he endured from Skip. He sensed it all — the metallic tang of Uncle Ben's blood seeping from its bullet wound, the dingy toilet water, the egg shells biting his skin as flour stuck on him like fly paper, the rough, sweaty cloths, the thick bitterness of semen that either forced its way down his throat or mixed with his own blood as the solution dripped from his sore ass.

As he took inventory of his own self, however, the load increased. His tongue is wrapped in saliva that isn't his. The bruises mapping his body looks awfully similar to what Skip has given him every time he had his way. He can see the faint traces of fingernails etched on to his skin. There was a soft voice whispering huskily inside his ears. It felt like a grater. "Fuck." He found himself whimpering. He ran his hands furiously at his own hair, forcing his brain to think.

Where had he gone wrong, exactly?

The answer dawned upon him almost immediately; there was nothing, no one to blame but him. Fucking things up seems to be his specialty.  Flash would've left him alone if he did terribly at school. Uncle Ben would still be alive if he had put his newfound powers to good use. Skip and Alice would not lay eyes on him if he just...

Peter nearly jumped out of the tub when the freezing water started enveloping him. He curled in further to the side as he clawed into his throat. Blinking his eyes, he realized that he has two choices on where should he go — the lake from his first encounter with Toomes, or the bedroom.

Eh, he's drowning in his own air anyways. Taking a deep breath, he opted for the former. Everything felt so real that night — the sharp talons on his back, the cold air whipping his frail body, and then the dizzying fall, the watery crash, his own parachute strangling him as he hit rock bottom, the creeping chill of death numbing his veins.

That, he can process. Spiderman eats near-death experiences for breakfast like all superheroes do. Spiderman kicks ass. Spiderman is in control of his own body.

 _Peter grabbed a washcloth and began rubbing at his skin violently. He treated the mantra like a prayer inside his head as he scrubbed on every inch of his skin._ _Hard._ _Spiderman isn't dirty. Spiderman isn't dirty. Spiderman isn't dirty. Spiderman isn't dirty._ He winced when the cloth started burning his skin due to friction. He stared at it, at the red patchy streaks the washcloth as well as the cold water had given him. Goose flesh peppered his skin. There's nothing to blame for that except the cold, right? Part of him wanted to smile because he is almost as red as his suit. What came out from his frozen body however is an angry sob, which puzzled him. He should be happy since he is almost as clean as Spiderman. As dignified as Spiderman. Spiderman has his share of fuck ups but he gets to redeem himself. Penis Parker fucks up and fucks up while life shits on him.

 _Nobody wants you around,_ Flash sneered inside his ear. _Nobody wants Penis Parker around._

He's right, though. Now that he pondered on it, his parents probably needed an out because nobody wants a freak for a son. Uncle Ben found a way out when the opportunity presented itself because nobody wants an ungrateful prick of a freak for a nephew. Aunt May would follow suit, because nobody likes broken things. Ned would like a better friend, somebody he can hang out with. MJ loathes trash. Mr. Stark wants him around because he's Spiderman. Who is he anyways without the suit? A freak of nature. A circus clown. A cum dumpster.

 _I know you want it._ There was a faint chorus singing the same thing over and over, an alto and a bass complementing each other as they both taunted him. Where is their source? Where are they coming from? Peter looked around, tired eyes scanning the clean surroundings for the source of the voice. They weren't in his head, either. So that means he's just imagining it. It isn't real.

_It isn't...?_

A dull pressure breached through him, taunting him. There were hands rough and soft running on his sides and inside his thighs. Soft pricks and wet kisses smothered him all over, and it felt real. Horrifyingly real. It made him gag.

Peter shook his head. No way. Nobody wants him around, so why does he feel like somebody does albeit in the worst way possible? He wanted nothing but to feel wanted, to feel like he belonged, but not like this.

_C'mon, Einstein._

_Oh, baby boy._

_Be a good boy and be on your knees_

_Ooh, yeah. Your face is worth sitting on._

_Sit on my lap._

He read from some biology textbook that there's a part of the human brain that causes one to be delusional when it pumps the right hormones. This was all crazy delusion, right? Because no fucking way. _No fucking way._

Gritting his teeth, Peter hardened his grip on the washcloth and scrubbed harder. He is not red enough. He had to be red enough. Spiderman red. _Spiderman isn't dirty. Spiderman isn't dirty. Spiderman isn't dirty. Spiderman isn't dirty._

...

Tony finally got May to calm down.

She stormed her way inside the compound when he called her about what happened. It was almost midnight, her hair was pinned in a loose bun, a few stubborn tangles popping out of her pretty head, her khaki trench coat was un-fastened around her body, giving him a view of her white scrubs she didn't bothered ironing, and her glasses were a bit crooked to the side, but she trotted on the empty hallways in the compound like she's unleashing hell dressed like a queen of sorts. There were a lot of emotions radiating from her body — panic, fear, worry, to name a few — but it somehow mixed into a deadly cocktail of bursty anger directed at everyone, everything around her. "Where's my baby?" She demanded the moment the elevator brought her to the penthouse like it was him who did the boy wrong. Tony gets where she is coming from; he fired a healthy dosage of electricity on a hormonal teenage girl a few hours ago, but he was all kinds of tired, and his own blood is racing inside his veins rapidly. It took every inch of him to restrain himself from trying to match her tone. May is nuclear when agitated, and he was particularly nuclear when bone-weary. Together, they will explode in a white-hot blast of radioactive anger, which isn't what the situation is. Happy, upon sensing the impending doom, silently excused himself.

Luckily for him, Pepper is around.

Tony oriented his fiancé that he electrocuted the rapist with his own armor. Pepper didn't yelled at him for being stupid, didn't fussed herself over the PR disaster she is going to deal with — every little thing Tony does outside the safe walls of Stark Industries are potential PR disasters regardless of intensity. She just nodded at him, still shell shocked upon hearing the news, and pulled up her laptop and her phone, turning her ringer on and setting the gadgets on the coffee table as she brewed some tea for the three of them, sensing the weight of everybody's emotions around the room. She offered a cup to May, who gratefully took it with a nod and pressed another on his hand forcefully before taking her place at the buttoned couch. Tony was too pissed to complain. He just sat beside his fiancé and took a sip. He fought the urge to spit the tea out almost immediately after he drank it. It tastes good, but it's far too weak. Normally he'd resort to alcohol but that is behind him now. Pure black coffee usually does the job at times like this, although it does hinder his circadian rhythm.

When Tony felt his heart recede a hair's breadth, he gestured at the empty seat in front of them. "Please, have a seat." He nodded. "Peter is taking a bath. I'll run the details to you as calmly as possible, just please have a seat."

May obliged with a scowl. She half-emptied her cup before setting it down and addressed the elephant inside her head. "Bath?" She echoed. The tea certainly helped on lowering her blood pressure down, but rage is  
still churning inside her. "I thought you were smarter than that. Peter needs to go to the hospital with me right now and get himself a rape kit."

"I don't think Peter would appreciate the gesture." Tony sighed. He took a swig off his tea. "When I found him, he - he - I had to pry him off the bed and tuck him safely into my backseat using my suit. I am aware of how rape kits work, May. But I don't — with what's happened to him, I don't..." Tony shook his head stubbornly. He buried his face in his hands as he tried to shake the image of Peter's lifeless stare out of his head.

"The rape kit is the best chance he's got!" May snapped.

"No, it's not." Tony made an effort to level his voice. "I don't mean it like that because that is indeed the best physical evidence the cops could get, but I don't think Peter will appreciate being prodded all over again a few hours after...that...happened." Tony took another sip. "But Friday — my artificial intelligence — has Peter's blood diagnosis, as well as the reports regarding a  trace of foreign saliva inside his mouth. I also had her snap a picture of the scene. Ned can testify as a witness, I will testify as a witness, and I've got the best lawyers in the country under my wing."

May clutched the porcelain tightly, her face slowly morphing to compliment her understanding. Her eyes are still ablaze with fury, though. The information should've reassured her, to say the least, but every nerve in her body is screaming at her to find him.

"Shit. Tony?" Pepper hissed. She passed the laptop to him furiously. Tony squinted at the screen, taking a few generous sips with him as his eyes scanned the page.

_Tony Stark Crashes a Party and Assaults a Lady_

_By: Anna Marie Highsmith_

_December 14, 11: 48 PM_

_Genius, Billionaire, Philanthropist and Avenger Tony Stark was reported  literally crashing a high school party in Queens tonight, 9:49 P.M. The Ironman, according to eye witness reports, broke through the bedroom window of Alice Mary Tinsley, a senior at the Midtown High Institute of Technology who throws the said party._

_Shell-shocked Tinsley has claimed that Tony Stark has physically assaulted her while in the midst of hooking up with a sophomore. She is currently at the New York City Police Department for further questioning._

_Eyewitness reports also say that Stark has kidnapped somebody from party; his armor was spotted throwing somebody in the backseat of his Audi. Statements also claim that he looks as if 'hell is chasing him' as he went inside the car._

_The insider is currently seeking to get more testimonies._

_This story is currently in progress. Stay tuned for updates._

Tony hurled his cup on the wall. The porcelain shattered upon impact, and the last dashes of tea inside it were now splattered, leaving watermarks all over the paint job. A blood-curdling yell managed to get out of his lungs, echoing amidst the silent place. As he let his anger and frustration out through the yell, he found himself slowly feeling lighter, the tension and the repressed emotions in his gut easing up for a moment. "I should have killed the bitch." He growled. Tony buried his face in his hands, his fingers tangling his already untamed hair.

"The lawyers would not like that." Pepper emphatically said.

"I'd call it Avenger business." He rebutted. "There's always a casualty in Avenger business."

"Ross would not like that, either."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Peter was being raped. I don't think she'll get off him if Greenie Brucie asks her nicely."

May choked on her tea, which prompted the startled couple to shift their attention towards her. "She?" May parroted an octave higher.

Tony grimly nodded. "A girl from his senior year."

For some reason, May thought back to that one time when Ben is still with them, and Peter was just a young boy gradually recovering from his parents' tragic death. The two of them decided to get individual jobs to keep a roof over their head and sustain everything Peter is going to need hence why they hired Steven from across the street. He was in his senior year, and he seemed like a nice fellow. Laugh lines crinkled his innocent face, and he also has a penchant for everything science-ey.

One particular evening, when May and Ben just got home, Peter greeted them with hugs and kisses which would've been normal, except he's limping like he used sandpaper to wipe. Badly. "Peter, what happened?"

May can recall the precise shade of white Peter turned into when she asked that. "Oh! Um, I fell on my butt." The faint echoes of his childish voice with the slightest hint of shrill racked her brain. "Skip and I played tag after...after teaching me anatomy. Sorry. I should've been more careful."

_Skip and I played tag after teaching me anatomy._

_After teaching me anatomy._

_Sorry. I should've been more careful._

_Sorry. I should've been more careful._

_Sorry. I should've been more careful._

May let out a soft cry. Before she knew it, Pepper was on her side, rubbing circles on her back.

Peter is a smart boy. Painfully smart. Smarter than what he gives himself credit for. Too smart for his own good, but smart nonetheless. His big brain compliments his big heart he likes wearing on his sleeve. May tried to take a swig, only to squint at the cup when she realized it's empty. Pepper got the hint and took the teacup from her tight grip, refilled it in the counter, and handed it over her. May breathed out of relief upon the warmth.

Her thoughts raced back to a point in Peter's childhood.

_I can run to the store with you, May._

_Can I help prepare dinner, please?_

_I'll go get the door._

At first, May thought that Peter was just being his sweet self. He befriended Ned shortly after Steven moved for college. He was a chubby boy his age even back then, and he also shared Peter's interests. They'll geek out, per say, whenever they get to be around each other.

Except...

Peter insisted he help Ben or her on their errands whenever Ned crashes either for homework or for movie night, no matter if it's as trivial as running to the convenience store. For the first three months of their friendship, Peter was practically begging them to let him tag along.

The memory struck her as odd for a reason. Peter never wanted to be alone with Ned. Ned, whom he befriended because he's a misfit like him.

Innocent Ned mistook it for hospitality. May mistook it for parental over-attachment.

Warm bile rose inside her throat. She took a swig of her refilled tea as a stray tear rolled down her cheek.

If Peter became distant to Ned after being traumatized by Steven...

...then MJ...

Shit.

_Oh! Um, I fell on my butt._

How May wished she listened between the lines. How she wished she took Peter's excuse from that fateful day to a deeper analysis. How she wished she prodded when she picked up how rehearsed it sounded off his mouth.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Aftertaste II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically written to satisfy my need for a mama bear irondad chap. More whumps, more feels. Decided to add slow burn on the tags. 
> 
> Also, i did my research but i am still not confident on my portrayal of hypothermia.

_Tony Stark Admits to Assault, Claims it to be an_ _Avengers_ _Business._

_By: J.J Lee Jenkins_

_December 15, 2:52 P.M_

_Former Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark has admitted to physically assaulting Queens resident Alice Mary Tinsley at her own party yesterday night._

_The billionaire was spotted donning his_ _Ironman_ _suit outside the Tinsley residence. Sources say that he broke into the home through one of the bedroom windows. His suit was then seen carrying a body that's yet to be identified and putting it on the backseat of a black Audi_ _R8_ _parallel-parked on the sidewalk._

_"I didn't kidnapped anybody." Stark stated when asked about the possibility earlier this morning. "What I did last night was pure Avenger business. I saved somebody's life."_

_When asked who did he saved, the now Research and Development head opted not to comment._

_He did, however, elaborated on his previous statement. "I can't, in my good conscience, let somebody - who wasn't under my wing for a good few hours - get raped on a winter night." Stark has also said that his lawyers are working on a lawsuit against Tinsley for charges he's yet to confirm._

"You should've waited for your lawyers before releasing a statement." Pepper scolded. She took his empty mug and set it on the kitchen counter. Her hair was down, and, like him, was just in sweatpants and a high thread count shirt, her bare feet prodding the cold floor silently. At any rate, Tony would classify this wintry day as normal; he'd be lounging lazily at his lab tinkering through his works thoughtlessly, she'd be curled on the couch, her laptop on the table, a cup of warm creamy coffee on her hand, and the Kardashians on the TV. They'd bundle themselves in a winter coat and get themselves dinner on a restaurant he had Friday booked at the last minute, and then they'd go home and have lazy sex in the bedroom - or if they're too lazy and tired to go past the second base and tear their clothes off each other, they'll just snuggle in between the thick sheets, basking into the familiar warmth of each other and never regarding the heater.

Except their little situation is anything but normal. Nothing in the last twenty-four hours classifies as normal.

Empathy is the one trait Pepper has that Tony loves so much he'd kill anybody, anything to protect it. She is so good at being empathic with regards to the feelings and emotions of those around her (and especially him) that she can physically reflect them. Sunken eyes with faint dark circles underneath them, unruly hair combed messily with pissed off fingers, clothes wrinkly from the tight clutch of the fist - that is Tony's everyday look and it does suit him in some instances and Pepper never gets out of the bedroom without running a comb on her hair or a flat iron on her clothes, yet here she is - a perfect woman perfectly reflecting her imperfect soon-to-be husband. Not a good look for someone like her, to say the least, but he doesn't mind.

Pepper shared his sheer anger at Twatty Tinsley, shared his sympathy towards May - who is now sleeping soundly at a spare room after a lot of tears and convincing at two AM in the morning, and is probably sharing his guilt - his blooming guilt amidst the sea of shock and dread and despair and god knows what else towards Peter.

_He was molested by his babysitter when he was eight...and now this?_

May's outburst rang inside his head. It dimmed his spinning vision.

Peter Benjamin Parker, part time Spiderman and full time geek, was given a lot more than what he can handle at fifteen - and Tony thought his years growing up was downright horrible. Howard's superb parenting skills, his parents' death, his suffocating academic life at MIT, his suffocating life as a Stark conglomerate in the making- none of those hold a candle to losing two father figures and a mother, getting constantly harassed and picked on by bullies, and, as if it couldn't get any worse, being sexually assaulted twice. At least he got the privilege of money. Something tells him he never got help; May looks shocked as realization dawned on her last night, and the kid's constant over-apologizing has to root from somewhere.

Tony closed his eyes. The kid is going to be the death of him. Peter likes wearing his heart on his sleeve, and people liked taking advantage of it, of his pure boyish innocence, and toy with it in front of him, breaking the organ in the process. He's clinging on to the hope that after all that stuff, Peter still gets to wear something on his cuffs. Anything.

Knowing him, he'd pick up the pieces using his bare hands and jam it underneath the skin with no regards on how many cuts he'll receive in the process.

"Nobody in our side has the luxury of time, Pep." He groaned. "You've read the story from last night. The bitch is spinning this up to be a sob story in her favor."

"We have evidences that could outright discredit her." Pepper crossed her arms and leaned against the window, staring at the snowy skyline. There's a lot of cars parked on the compound's main entrance, and she may have caught a glimpse of a few camera flashes. She ran a hand through her tangled hair. The privacy of the compound - which basically is a home - is being compromised.

"It doesn't matter how we discredit her." Tony countered. "If the hook-up story sells, Peter is never going to hear the end of it."

Tony tried to visualize it. Peter Parker being downplayed to an average teenager who fucks around like people his age would. Peter Parker being harassed and mocked for trying to play the victim. Peter Parker being tormented with questions that revolve on how good the pussy was.

He swept it off to the darkest corners of his mind. People can't be that horrible, right? Peter's brain capacity alone is more than average (and by more, he means, a mainframe storage type of more.) which automatically crosses him out of your typical teenage angst and reckless behavior; Peter has his own share of angst and reckless behavior but Tony is confident to say that it's because of the baggage on his back. Peter is a victim - there's no point in arguing that. Peter never enjoyed the non-consensual encounter.

He did the right thing....right?

"The hook-up story will sell." Pepper nodded. "But once the evidence is presented, everyone will want a refund."

God, he loves her so much.

"Boss?"

Tony took a deep breath, grateful that his AI had conveniently interrupted them. He's never had to deal with so much tension in the air hanging until today.

"Peter has just went out of his bathroom. My sensors detected that his vitals are compromised."

"What?" Tony leapt out of his seat and was already making his way to the door. His hunch tells him that Peter has somehow fell asleep on the bathtub, which is ridiculous on so many levels. Peter is too smart to let that happen.

"His body temperature has lowered to 93.2° F and counting." She informed him. "Peter has been showing signs of hypothermia when he got out of the bathroom. As we speak, his heart rate is gradually plummeting. "

"How long did he stayed inside before going out?" He braced himself.

"Approximately fifteen hours."

That was all he needed to hear.

The couple was practically sprinting towards the boy's room. "Peter?" He called out, giving the door a few hard knocks. When he didn't responded, Tony yanked at the door knob furiously, gritting his curses through his teeth. "Friday?" He wearily called out. There was a faint click, and the lock gave out. Sighing in relief, he unlocked the door and threw it open, stumbling inside the cold room.

Peter was curled up on the middle of the bed in a fetal position, shivering. His pale face made an unsettling contrast against his skin. The rest of his body is covered in patches so red it seems like he washed himself with sandpaper. His enhanced regeneration is already working on his abrasions, restoring the skin to a pale sheet of paper. Tony isn't sure if he appreciates the change.

His ears picked the sound of the water running. Tony glanced at the open bathroom, and sure enough, bathwater is flooding from the inside. Pepper made a run for the bathroom, which he is grateful for. He can't tear himself in two halves to attend to Peter and to investigate just how badly the boy screwed himself shut this time.

Pepper hissed the moment she made contact with the flooding water. "Oh my god, it's freezing." She confirmed his worst thoughts. She turned the water off and let the water drain before heading back beside him.

The kid slept in a tub overflowing with ice cold water because some bitch decided to rape him. Tony glued himself back to reality by festering all over Peter. "Buddy?" He asked as he subconsciously laid a hand on the side of his neck. His pulse feels too weak. Tony gulped a huge lump inside his throat.

"M-mis'er St-s'ark." Peter tried to find him with his glassy eyes, but he's too stiff and frozen to move. "Is...is...d-d'ya need me for - for a m-mission?" He struggled to say. Every word he utters is a numbing jolt to his veins. It's painful to hear, the teeth clattering reflexively, the words stumbling their way out, the jagged shallow puffs of breath wheezing out of him, but Tony steeled himself.

"I..." Peter let out a soft gasp. "I'm...i'm i-in my suit. Sp-spider...spiderman. Spiderman r-r-reporting for - for duty. S-sir." He tried to laugh, but what came out of his throat is a pitchy whine. Peter held out his arm, still red from whatever he had done. "See?"

Tony tore his gaze away from the boy. Something inside him got ripped a little as if it's paper when he did, but he knows he had to. He picked up the comforter from the night before on the floor and tucked Peter in it. The boy whimpered and slowly curled in further to himself, gluing his eyes shut. "Friday, the heater." He commanded as he secured the comforter around his bare body. Warmth started seeping gradually from inside the room. It felt nice and cozy, he must admit. Despite everything, the warmth soothed his cold feet, which seemed to give him the boost of strength he needs. No, he can't afford to be weak right now.

Correction: Nobody can't afford to be weak right now. Not May, not Pep, and especially not him. The boy trembled slightly and hugged the comforter closer, urging him to go on.

When Peter is fully covered, Tony went to the sides of the bed and retrieved the thicker comforter. He stacked it over Peter's body, wrapping him like a Christmas gift. Pepper got out of the bathroom, the soaked cuffs of her sweats clinging to her ankles. "How is he?"

"Not so good." Tony grimaced. He gently lifted his bundle so he can secure the comforter on the boy's side.

Pepper picked up the discarded towel Peter probably used to dry himself and tossed it in the laundry bin. "The water is freezing, Tony." There was a grim look on her face. "I'm thankfully surprised he's still with us."

Spiders can't thermoregulate. The cold became one of Peter's kryptonites after the spider bite, apparently. Tony had learned about it the hard way when Peter literally dropped by the compound out of exhaustion last month after a patrol that involved some thieves and a meat freezer in a butcher shop.  Now that he thought about it, Tony sensed the dejá vú lingering in the space between them. It had been him who tucked him into layers and layers of sheets that night, it had been him who pressed warm cups of water on to his hand because he isn't coherent enough to say what hot beverage he feels like drinking.

Peter, despite in such state, managed to become his smart self back then. His actions from last night do not make any sense to him — but then, none of the events last night is sensible.

Tony had immediately programmed Karen to activate the heater inside Peter's suit once the temperature gets lower than normal. He also added a device inside his web shooters that would be launched and triggered by the AI to provide him a burst of warmth around him should the need for it rises. On top of that, he also wove heating pads on the suit's neck and chest area. He also made a newer protocol for Karen where she is to contact him when Peter starts showing signs of hypothermia and the like.

All that for a single blind spot. Tony was proud of himself.

Yes, he can certainly design countermeasures against hypothermia. Yes, he may have rigged the Spiderman suit with protocols meant to protect the boy in all kinds of harm, regardless of how rare its chance of occurring is. He can do that much when he really wanted to. It's within his sphere of comfort after all.

"I'm gonna go to the medbay." Pepper squeezed his shoulder. "See if we got hot compresses."

Tony grabbed her hand and planted a kiss on it before turning his attention back to Peter. Pepper gently closed the door.

Tony was never good with people. His expertise lies in machinery, for they were something he can fix. He's better off dealing with a busted circuit or a bug in a program's code. He's never fit for fixing people.

Something inside Peter is broken. One look at the helpless heap of bundle in the bed can see that. Tony is fairly certain that he cannot fix him, cannot wrench a few bolts on his breakdown, cannot wield the broken pieces inside his vulnerable body and soul so they can be whole again.

But he had to try. There is no harm in trying.

Drat the kid and his ability to make people get attached to him. It fascinates Tony sometimes, if it wasn't so fucked up, just how people can treat the boy horribly.

Upon seeing that Peter is desperately trying to warm himself up inside the bundle of comforters, Tony walked towards the bathroom. The tiles are still soaked with — _good lord it's freezing! —_ bath water. He hitched a breath when his skin made contact. Tony went for the racks and grabbed a soft fluffy towel. He stepped out of the place twice as fast as when he arrived and jogged for Peter's side.

"Kid?" He shook his body gently. Peter responded with a whimper. "Think you can prop your head up for me?"

Peter squinted at the light, his vision adjusting, and winced. Tony immediately told Friday to dim the lights a bit. Peter sagged further into the mattress when the command was executed, and the room is bathed in a soft muted florescent glow.

"I'm taking that as a no." Tony knelt by his side and gently lifted Peter's head. The boy let out a soft cry in protest. Cursing, Tony placed the towel onto the pillow and laid Peter back. He then wrapped his head with the towel, leaving his bare face exposed.

"Friday, did I do the first aid right?" Tony was astonished when he realized that he's trying to catch his breath when he said that.

"Yes, boss." Friday affirmed above him,"My database says so. You just need to wait for the hot compresses."

Tony took a deep breath. He cupped the boy's cheek and gave it a tap. "Pete?" He looks so tired, and letting the boy rest seems like a feasible idea but Tony doesn't want to risk it. He's not going to lose Peter through something as mundane as sleeping.

Peter's brows unfurled when he made contact. His soft shallow breath tickled his skin. "Warm." He sighed as he nuzzled his cheek on to Tony's hand.

"You're not going to sleep." Tony may have stumbled upon accounts of people dying in their sleep while being afflicted with hypothermia. They were dubious, at best, but boy if it doesn't overload him with paranoia on the kid's welfare. "You're going to talk."

"Dun wunna talk." Peter whined softly as he tried to snuggle in closer. "I wanna sleep." He let out a soft yawn. The sound drawls on to his ears, and for just a moment he actually considered sleeping beside the kid.

"Peter." Tony hissed. "Talk to me, buddy. C'mon." He racked Peter off to prevent him from dozing off. The boy let out a soft cry in annoyance.

"Friday, what's his temperature?" Peter was actually obeying him and is slurring incoherent statements, which would've given the impression that he's severely intoxicated. That can't be right.

"93.7" Friday reported, "But his temperature is increasing slowly."

Tony stared at the kid. Peter is one snap away from dozing off. He ran a hand on his hair. He doesn't want to pry, but it seems there is no other way to occupy Peter and make him talk other than getting his nose inside his business.

"Peter." He called out for the hundredth time. "I wanna play a game."

The boy's brown eyes snapped wide open. His words stirred something inside him. Peter began trembling beneath the covers, and tears are starting to pool again. "No." He closed in onto himself further. "Please, no." He shut his eyes and shook his head stubbornly. Peter started writhing furiously on the bed.

_Shit_ _._

Tony smacked himself. Hard. He bit back a hiss and tried to pull Peter out of the delusion. "Peter, no. I don't mean it that way. Any Three Questions, Pete? Have you heard of that game? Any Three Questions?"

Peter nodded but still won't meet his gaze.

"Would you mind playing Any Three Questions with me?" Tony rambled. Guilt gnawed at his gut. For such a genius he sure can be a dumb shit. A really insensitive, prickly dumb shit. But how could he have known? Still, he could've chosen better words. "Buddy? Please answer me. Any Three Questions?"

"Okay." Peter whimpered. "I'll do whatever you want, just please, no more games."

_No more games._

Hearing those words broke Tony's heart. Peter's babysitter from years ago is a sick fuck. He does not need to return back in time to see it for himself — Peter is one body of evidence on that testament.

"Okay." Tony breathed, "But can you please look at me?"

He did. There was a spark of recognition in Peter's eyes amidst the cold terror. "Mr. Stark?" He lazily blinked his eyes. "D-do you, do you need me fo' a mis'un?"

"No, kid." Tony chewed on his lip. "We're playing Any Three Questions."

"Okay." Was all he replied.

Not knowing else what to do, Tony fired away. He initiated it, so he might as well grow a pair and go for it. "What took you so long inside the bathroom?" The question came out a little too blunt. Tony can't help but wince, but Peter didn't seemed to mind.

"I'm suiting up." He slurred.

"You're...suiting up?" Tony echoed. The answer downright puzzled him. There were crickets making noises inside his head.

Peter hummed affirmatively. He pulled out his mostly pale arm weakly out of the bundle and showed the red patches to him. "See?" He managed a small smile. "I'm in my Spiderrr...spiderrr...Spidey S-suit. Sp...Spiderman re'oting 'or du'ee"

Tony reached out and rubbed circles on the red spots over the boy's arm. Honestly? Peter isn't making any sense and it isn't just because of the slurring. But he isn't gonna say that out loud. Peter is carrying a ton inside him. It is always good to let it out vocally — he is speaking from personal experience. So he is going to let Peter be as honest and as expressive as he can be and that is because it's what he needs, and he'll figure out the metaphors by himself later in the lab, alone, preferably with a cup of warm black coffee.

Tony made a mental note on the things he'll have his faithful AI research for him (Coping mechanisms and rape aftermaths, to name a few). Right now, Peter needs him — or rather, his company. The boy needs every company he could get and he just happens to be the only one around. This event cemented that Peter shouldn't be left alone. The kid has always been clingy, with a desire to please as a means of keeping people around him, but he's much, much more vulnerable now.

"I-is it...is it my turn, Mr. Sta'k?" Peter sighed. Tony nodded and gestured for him to go on. "I- I was wondering...can I...can I apply f-for an actual S-stark...Stark Int-erns-ship?" His teeth clatters. Tony couldn't help himself; he laughed. The sound curved inside the hollows of his chest, a rather welcome and refreshing shift of tension. The question is very him. Tony felt relieved that, despite the boy's deluded state, his persona is very much intact.

Or is it?

"Of course you can." He grinned at the boy and carded his curls, which seemed to ease him a bit. Tony would like to think that he has already redeemed himself from his little accident from a few moments ago. "Interns get paid as much as an entry-level employee, though if you want the benefits you'll have to be a regular." He shrugged. "I'd say the experience is good, and it would look good on your resumé but I don't wanna sound like one of those real estate agents who'd kill to get their commission."

Tony didn't believed that giggles can be dry, and yet Peter may have just disproved him. The body beneath the sheets rumbled in laughter, and yet his eyes remained distant. "Your turn, Mr. Stark." It was barely a whisper.

"How are you?" He spat out before he can even think about it. Tony should really work on his sensitivity.

Luckily for him, Peter doesn't seem to mind. "I'm fine." He said almost immediately, with enough conviction to convince him that he's lying.

"Define 'fine', Peter." He gently said.

"I'm fine." He repeated, almost as if he's programmed to utter those words over and over whenever someone asks him about his welfare. Selfless, too selfless. "I'm good. I'm Spiderman. Spiderman's good."

Tony would've believed him if he stuttered a bit. But he didn't pushed his luck, didn't risked pushing buttons. "Your turn."

Peter didn't asked immediately; he closed his eyes and thought of anything. The temptation to keep him awake won over, and Tony was shaking him again, shushing him to keep awake. Peter groaned. "Why won't you let me sleep?"

Tony squinted at him. "Is that your second question?"

"Mhmm."

"Ever heard of hypothermia, Pete?" The boy nodded, prompting him to go on. "That's what you have inflicted to yourself. What were you thinking, falling asleep in the tub filled with freezing water? You know you can always adjust the temperature, right?" He hadn't meant to scold, and yet here he is.

"I'm sorry."

Tony can feel his heart un-thaw a little inside. "I didn't answered your question." He quietly said. "I may have did some research and came into the conclusion that I can't let you fall asleep."

A small smile formed on the boy's lips. "I think the accounts you've read are bullshit." His eyes widened a fraction when he realized what he just said. "Sorry." He coyly said, "I...I...no offense, Mr. Stark."

"No need to apologize." Tony sighed. "I share your sentiment. I take it it's my turn?"

Peter solemnly nodded.

It was his turn to take a pause. He looked around the room, trying to formulate anything which would hopefully draw something concrete from the boy while staying on his line.  It wasn't an easy job. One of these days, when everything is back to normal — or as normal as the situation permits — he will draw the line on his boundaries regarding his relationship with the kid. Peter grew on him like a son would, and he isn't even ashamed to admit that, but truth be told Tony is scared that Peter sees him nothing more than a mentor — which he'd gladly fulfill, hence why he needs to make it concrete.

"Friday, what's his temp?" Tony found himself saying instead.

"94.6 degrees, boss. His body is currently maintaining that temperature."

Tony cussed under his breath. He reflexively shook the boy again, which earned him more groans of annoyance. "You heard her." He pointed out. "One more reason you can't fall asleep."

"I thought you find the accounts of people dying bullshit?" Peter's shivers halted down to a faint steady rhythm. Was that a good sign?

"I'm not risking it." Tony argued. "Maybe I just need to do an in-depth research so I can find out for myself."

"D-do y-you have a question for me, Mr. Stark?" Peter sighed.

Defeated, Tony shook his head. His mind is too busy making plans to keep Peter awake to think of anything feasible. "How about you blow your last question away?"

Peter hesitantly met his gaze. There was a kind of fear tucked beneath the surface of indifference. He gulped a lump on his throat and made an effort to hold his gaze before asking, "How much of a handful am I, Mr. Stark?"

The steely determination in that tone tells him that Peter believes what he just said and accepts that as a fact. Tony's heart dropped on his feet and shattered into pieces. "You're not a handful." He immediately said, recalling that Peter said the same thing in the car last night. "You're anything but a handful."

"What am I then?" Peter's voice cracked slightly. "Because let's face it, Mr. Stark. I'm nothing, if not a handful. I screw up every damn time and I mess everything up and...and..."

"Stop."

Peter did.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. This kid is really going to be the death of him. He knows he has to give Peter every chance to speak up because he needs it to be relieved, but frankly, he's had enough.

"You are everything, Peter."  
  
  



	3. Afterburn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the loooooooong delay. My last year of being a Senior is biting my back hard. Tons of work. I do hope this chapter makes up for it.

It was a painfully dull week.

Tony had excused Peter from school for all five school days.  He personally emailed the staff that he'll be needing him for a week long Stark Internship training camp; aside from the excuse letter, Tony has also scanned a parental consent form May had signed (without hesitation) as well as a copy of the schedule of the activities for the week. Turns out there really was a team building week at Stark Industries — Mr. Stark has just conveniently wove him in between the lines for the sake of a particular narrative he intends to showcase while he pulls the strings of his case behind the curtains. Within that five days Tony had become a busy storm, dealing with the media and his lawyers in a flurry of equal parts fury and anxiety. Phone calls are made, emails are typed, camera flashes are pinged — Peter saw and heard everything at the comfort of one of the spare bedrooms (it doesn't feel right to call it his since he did refused the Avenger slot and he doesn't do overnights a lot, much less a week's worth of hideaways) inside the tower, sometimes from Friday's feed but mostly from his haywire senses overloading him with a bit of everything, from the clicks of either a camera shutter or a keyboard to the agitated voices speaking down the hall a few storeys below or from the phone a few rooms away. The sensations gave him dull shocks of pain inside his head, as if his brain is being poked relentlessly with a hot wire, but he did his best to ignore it. One look at the worry lines on Mr. Stark's forehead as well as the faint shadows under his eyes, and Peter could immediately tell that he has caused trouble. Again. Deep down, Peter knew; he brought the media on his doorstep, brought the lawsuits under the table, and caused every single bit of stress to every occupant in the tower. Guilt welled down his stomach. He was the Pied Piper, and behind him are the rats following his trail. Being the handful, ungrateful prick that he is, of course he brought every single mice to Tony Stark of all people because fucking up seems to be the only thing he's capable of. The billionaire deserves better than this; Peter is a witness on just how dedicated and hardworking his mentor who frequently smells of black coffee, sparks, and motor oil is, and the reward he deserves isn't obviously the infestation that was him. Mr. Stark has every right to be angry at him. For all he knows, he already is, and it's only a matter of days, hours, heck even minutes before he takes the suit for good therefore severing any and all ties he has with him. Peter would understand it this time; he can't fuck up Spiderman. You don't fuck up the one thing that is good about yourself. He's already been a bother to him for too damn long, and he will have it coming should it even arrive on his door. May, on the other hand, moved back to Queens at Tony's insistence. Maybe his mentor has seen the need for her to take a break from dealing with him and volunteered to take over. Mr. Stark probably regrets the decision now.

His worth is determined by how useful he is. Since all he does is screw the pooch on every single step of the way, then that is already saying a lot on just how worthy he is.

Peter had spent the five days contemplating those, as well as the particular choices he has made. There only was an empty buzz most of the time inside his head. It was faint, but it is annoying nonetheless. Almost as if his own mind is discouraging him from doing so since he might screw it up too. He had to endure the buzz every time he attempts it when showering, when puking air on the toilet bowl and then begging Friday not to tell Mr. Stark about any sort of his sickness, when reading his books and his notes as the letters drifted aimlessly before his eyes, when eating meals that wafted his nose but severely disappointed his tastebuds, and when he mechanically scrolled down his phone. It was numbing.

Thankfully for him, it doesn't have to end up in a buzz all the time but if, and only if, he opts to contemplate the choices he had made _that_ night. The woozy details went on to him in puzzle pieces, the visual details so clouded it's like looking through a glass of cloudy water. Everything else is as unforgiving as the headaches he had to endure during the week and as detailed as the things his senses had picked up.

There were sounds. There were textures. There were lights. There was moisture. There was heat. Lots of heat. The most cruel thing about it is that the pieces came to him at random points of the day; he'd be sipping a glass of orange juice, and then he's gasping for air again, he'd be plopped on the bed and then when it hits, he'll run towards the end of the room, trembling.

He hates dealing with all of that at once. A part of him told him he deserves it. It was his fault why it happened after all.

He should've listened to his tastebuds.

He should've insisted they leave before they can even enter.

He should've bolted wildly when he felt the mattress.

He should've called for his friends the moment the drugs kicked in.

He should have yelled for help.

He should've yelled louder for her to stop.

But he didn't do anything of that, no. He decided to become a wimp. He paralyzed himself in that mattress and helplessly stared at the ceiling like he did before. He bit back his cries like he did before. He closed his eyes like he did before. He squirmed a lot to shake her off to no avail, just like with him before.

He fucked up on five counts. The phantom pains is the punishment he deserves. He can confidently say that none of those would've happened if he were Spiderman.

But alas, he isn't. He's just Penis Parker the buttsore, dicksore, everything-sore loser.

Come Sunday night and Miss Potts knocked on his door and handed him shopping bags with a smile. "We think you're starting to run out of spare clothes, and you need to wear something to school tomorrow." She reasoned out. He just nodded his head timidly because A: He doesn't want to be ungrateful by whining about how they shouldn't spend lots of greens on him and B: there was something in her soft voice and soothing aura that compelled him to be obedient, and the blazer over blouse and a pencil skirt certainly helped. Truth be told he wasn't exactly sure why he agreed to the break Mr. Stark has proposed. As the days went by, he found himself processing everything that's happened. One night he's at the top of the world exploding in vibrant colors as he gleefully watched, and then he's suddenly hit rock bottom. The fall had been colorful, like a gradient of lights blinking like stars, and then comes the dark. While that doesn't seem bad as it seems, the lights did a number on him and it is anything but pleasant. It hurt, and it exhausts him to just think about that. Must be a part of the punishment package he's supposed to endure. Now that he thought of it, it kind of makes sense why he had to take a break; nobody can get from 100 to zero, from Peter to Penis real quick without getting a whiplash at least. The fall has to be slow and excruciating.

5:48 AM. Peter had stared at his lock screen for the hundredth time. What is he trying to accomplish, exactly? He woke up about a half-hour earlier catching his breath from his very exhausting dream. He dreamt of colors for the seventh night in a row. Hues of red and orange swinging lazily on his peripheral vision. His whole body felt like jello, and his muscles feel really sticky and really sore. Sleeping, it seems, became an arduous chore. He lied down on his back and stared at the ceiling. He observed the small chippings of paint, the barely there dents and bumps as he drummed his fingers nervously on his stomach. Oddly enough, there was a strange sense of deja vu to it but he can't exactly pinpoint where.

_Yes, you can._

Peter shook his head furiously. He can't. He really can't. He isn't Spiderman today.

"Peter," Friday chimed above him. He was grateful for the little distraction. "It's six a.m. I would suggest you get up and get ready for school."

Peter feels too out of it to get out, though. Maybe a bit more sleep would do it. He did the math after Friday informed him; a drive back to Queens from the compound takes an hour or two, tops, a shower would last for twenty to thirty, another ten to fifteen to grab breakfast, and his homeroom period for today starts at 8:30. If he wants to get to school on time he'll need to go get working now.

Does he really want to go to school today, though?

Yes. Yes, he should want it. So he should just set his childish fears to the side and suck it up. May isn't sending him to school to slack off. Besides, he's been doing this for years. He at least has a point of reference if he's to pretend he's business as usual — talk nerd, get bullied by Flash, ace Decathlon practice, deal with Flash afterwards and then go home to May.

Plus winter break is just around the corner.

Sighing, he stood up and rid himself of his clothing, tossing them on the bed. He stripped his boxers off when he is behind the convenience of the bathroom floor. He stepped into the shower before letting it run. He winced a little when he realized the water is too hot, so he opted to adjusted it in a far more desirable temp. He closed his eyes and hummed a familiar tune under his breath as he started doing his morning routine. Squirt some shampoo, wash the hair with deft hands carding through his locks as the scent of vanilla filled his nose. Grab the soap and cover every inch of his skin with thick suds he's gonna scrub off with a washcloth. Rinse the body, then step out of the shower after turning it off and head for the bathroom sink where a lone glass, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste is waiting for him.  Easy peasy. Peter felt like a well-oiled machine for a good fifteen minutes. He did the task efficiently, mechanically as if he was programmed to do it. He should be proud.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he got out of the bathroom, dumped the contents of the shopping bags beside his clothes, and proceeded to fold his clothes before he can put it inside the empty bags as a replacement of sorts. Another easy task. He almost managed a smile. Almost.

One look at the clothes Miss Potts has generously bought for him, however, and he felt the difficulty raise significantly. He gulped a lump on his throat as he ran his hand through the stuff.  There was a thick black trench coat with matching gloves. Miss Potts has even got him a beanie in black and red stripes as well as socks and boxer shorts in bundles. Those, he didn't mind. It was the shirts and the jeans that got his attention.

The plain monochromatic shirts might seem generic, but Peter is sure it costs about half of his wardrobe back at home. He pinched a white shirt between his fingers and inspected the material. High thread count. But is it thick enough to protect himself from the cold? Is it baggy enough to hide his body? Will the color make him stand out? What will people think of him when he wore this?

Chewing his lip, he threw the white shirt over his body and wearily stared at the mirror in his vanity. He looks pale, too pale and too clean and the white isn't helping. The fit shows off his shoulders and compliments his frame. He'll definitely pop out. Peter yanked the shirt off his body and tossed it back on the bunch and tried off the black one, which is almost as bad of a decision as the white. It amplified his pallor, and made the color of his eyes and hair richer. The fit is the same but it somehow made him way lankier. Definitely a stand out. Nope. He frustratingly tossed that into the pile too. Gulping, he grabbed the gray one and wore it.  The fit was the same. _Shocker._ He grimaced at his reflection. The hue complimented his features and his skin. Does it make him stand out? Obviously. Penis Parker never dresses well. Penis Parker never clothes himself in shirts that costs two weeks' worth of allowance.

Frustration pitting deep within, he tossed the shirt half-heartedly back to its peers. He eyed the pair of denim folded neatly beside them. It felt like cotton to touch, and that is all Peter needs to know to say that this, too, costs about a month's worth of his allowance. He nervously put the pair on and stared at the mirror.

It fit him snugly. The semi-skinny dark blue jeans did a great job on emphasizing his limbs, toned from all that Spidermanning. It complimented his frame, no surprise there, and it made him look longer, sharper. One more testament on how expensive the  denim is.

He'd take it off in a heartbeat, but he doesn't have a spare pair of jeans. Sure, he could just reuse the one he's been wearing for days but Miss Potts would pick up on that and she will be severely disappointed. No, he's not wasting anybody's effort.

Peter can precisely recall when choosing an outfit for the day is as easy as Physics. He was harassed because he's...him. No other reason. The clothes aren't that much of a factor. How he yearned for those days to be back. He loathes the surreal feeling of being critical and paranoid towards clothes. They're harmless.

_But they attract people who'd do you harm and make you betray yourself._

Jaded, Peter decided to stare at his phone — and cussed. 7:02. He'll have to cling on to the hope that the New York traffic feels light at a winter morning. He figured that since he made up his mind on the stuff, he might as well start using them. He rolled a thin layer of some Old Spice on his armpits, conscious that the scent won't fit with him and therefore would be another bait and barely sprayed a mist of body spray all over his body, inhaling faint tones of musk and dollar bills as the scent reached his nostrils. He tucked his head inside the beanie haphazardly and quickly laced his sneakers. The heavy trench coat followed suit, and he is scrambling for the door, slinging his backpack as well as the shopping bags containing his cheap goods on his arm.

Cursing underneath his breath, Peter was brisking out in the hallway trying to find the main exit. He hasn't checked his wallet if he has enough cab money. His footsteps echoed amidst the silent hallways. Then, as if on cue, Mr. Stark has manifested himself from an intersection. He has bed head, his eye bags looked darker, and his dress shirt as well as his slack pants is badly wrinkled. Tony met his wide eyed gaze and frowned at him, prompting Peter to slow down to a halt.

Peter bit his lip. "Sorry." He blurted. He blinked his eyes at him. Surely Mr. Stark can get why he is apologizing.

Except he didn't. "Kid, there's nothing to be sorry for." He jerked his chin towards his get up. "I see you're going to school today."

"Yeah." Peter meekly said. He can't afford to meet his mentor's gaze, afraid of what he'll see. He fumbled for his sleeves and allowed his eyes to dart around.

"Did you had breakfast?"

Peter shook his head.

"Come grab some with me then." Tony stuffed his hands inside his pockets. He acknowledges the fact that there was a subtle hint of awkwardness hanging in the air.

Peter scratched at his beanie. "I'm running late, Mr. Stark." He winced. Tony, he mentally chided. _You can't possibly_ _fuck_ _up nicknames, Parker._

Tony didn't bothered correcting him. The boy looks flustered as ever, which would've been normal except he's reeking of anxiety. Not a good sign. He'll have to save the chiding for a point where Peter is back to his normal self again. "Grab some takeouts in Wendy's, then."

"Um, but my money is enough for a cab ride."

"Save that for the subway train." Tony waved him off. "Happy will drive you to your school. Who knows, if you managed to behave, he might even treat you some greasy take out." He attempted a half-hearted laugh. Tony had made sure he gave an extra fifty to Happy first thing in the morning. He just happened to have a copy of Peter's schedule and from that he deducted that Peter would have a good chance at being late for his homeroom period for today. Tony stared at Peter, who stilled. He went uh-oh. If he could get a bruise every time he chooses the wrong words to say, he would be a purple mess right now.

_I had it coming_ , Peter mentally repeated. "I'm sorry." He quickly said. "I...I..."

Tony slammed his back with his palm, making him stop. "I'm just messing around." He pressed on to his back, urging the boy to walk. "Look, just..." Tony fumbled for the words, but ended up with this: "Try not to get your ass handed to you, okay?"

How fucking pathetic. He really is no different from Howard.

"Yeah." Was all Peter managed weakly.

"If you need anything," Tony blurted in an attempt to save himself. "Just...you have my number." He can blame the awkwardness to the fact that he's never dealt with kids, much less kids who got raped and is probably traumatized to the core. He really should step up his game and book an appointment with his therapist because stuff like this is their specialty. 

...

The ride to the school was a painful drag.

The ruthless traffic gave Peter more time to be paranoid on his clothes. Brows furrowed, he picked on the sleeves of his coat once more. He pictured in his mind just how he will look. A stand out. Definitely a stand out, which downright contradicts his air of social invisibility. He, at one point, loathed being invisible, but right now he feels that he's everything but that and he'll gladly do anything to be that way again.

"Hey." Happy snapped his fingers at him. Peter blinked his wide eyes open. He can swear he looks just a tad bit concerned, which is new. Happy has always been indifferent towards him. This turn downright weirds him out. "What do you have in mind for breakfast?"

Peter looked around him and, sure enough, they were at a drive thru. His seat got warm all of a sudden. "I'll have what you have." He managed a nod. Happy regarded him for a moment before turning his attention back to the intercom. 

Happy handed him a bag of hash browns and a burger as well as a medium cup of coffee. Not knowing what to do, Peter sets the bag and the cup beside him, making sure that his coffee is standing upright before grabbing a hash brown and munched on it hungrily. It tasted good. The flavor is popping inside his mouth and the crunchy texture went with it. Without another word exchanged between the two of them, Happy proceeded to drive again.

An hour and a few couple minutes later, they arrived to their destination. To his bewilderment, MJ and Ned were waiting for him at the main gates, watching the snow melt on their boots. Happy smiled a little when he noticed the two of them. "You've got company." He sounds enthusiastic, which, again, is almost out of character. Or maybe that's just him. Peter propped himself out of the backseat lazily. On normal days he'd be jumping in delight at the sight of them. But he recalled how he made Ned taste his spiked drinks for him, how MJ insisted they're hexed yet he still drank because his nerves won't leave him alone. More guilt wells inside him. He fucked up, either way. He'll keep on fucking up again.

His goodbye to Happy sounded dry; the driver paid him no mind, but he winced at himself anyway. Seeing his friends whom he dragged into the mess that was the night of December 14 drained him. His glee? Gone, replaced by tons of guilt and a dash of hatred directed towards himself.

"You look bomb, Parker." MJ grinned at him. The two of them are doing something weird with their hands; they're fidgety, and they look like they wanna grab something but they're holding themselves back for some reason. "One week at S.I team building does that, huh?"

"Apparently." Peter stood awkwardly in front of them, thinking desperately of something, anything to say or ask. _Did I missed anything? Did you got hammered too, Ned? How did it went for you? Do you guys think I'm disgusting?_ The thoughts made him wanna hurl. He held both of them down. He shouldn't be thinking about this stuff out in the open — he's got his bedroom for this sort of thing.

"I've got homeroom." Peter looked down at his feet. The guilt is starting to overwhelm him, and he isn't sure if he can hold it back for long. He'd like them to not be around when his knees finally gave out. They've got better things to deal with.

"We all have homeroom at 8:30, Pete." She pointed out. Peter took his phone and pretended to look at the time. "Then I guess we should get going." A knot formed tightly inside his stomach squeezing acid on his organs in the process. MJ and Ned shared a glance, shrugged, and led the way.

For a moment, he felt like himself again. Students regarded him as thin air and bumped on to him like he didn't existed. Nobody spared him a second glance — okay, maybe that one is a bit inaccurate since everyone is glancing at him. Maybe the hype from Winter Talent Show hasn't died down yet. He's still Peter the drag lord. Give it a couple days and he'll be back to his rightful throne as Penis Parker.

He met the gazes of one of the senior jocks. Bad move. His eyes sparkled in recognition, and he snickered. His peers followed his gaze and then his snide smirks shortly afterwards. One of them quirked his eyebrows up and gave him a thumbs up.

Peter tore his glance off. Something is really, really _off._ Nobody gives Penis Parker a thumbs up for no good reason. Bothered, Peter decided to just look on his feet as he made his way to his homeroom. He said his goodbyes to MJ and Ned, who patted his back and proceeded to head to their respective classes.

The words of his homeroom adviser went inside his right ear and got out of his left. The day seemed normal, for the most part, except his paranoia is kicking in again. Did everybody noticed how peculiar his choice of clothes today are? Is anyone coming for his back because of his clothes? What's the deal with those jocks?

He can only stare at the space as the questions revolved around his stupid head. The routine dragged on to his other classes too. Sure, he juts notes down in a daze but Peter can only stare at the empty words, not bothering to even absorb its context.

_Peter._

He gulped a lump down his throat. There was a strange taste of thick cough syrup in its trail as it made its way down to his stomach.

_Peter._

He channeled his irritation through his pen and lined the words heavily. He got so engrossed to the task that he didn't noticed that somebody is shaking him lightly beside him. Peter flinched hard on his seat and his head snapped towards Ned who hadn't moved his hand from his shoulder nor wiped off the concern off his face. "You okay?" He asked in a low voice.

Peter stiffly nodded.

"Do you..." Ned took a long paused before stuttering, "D-d'you wanna talk about it?"

The coil inside his stomach squeezed. "No!" He hissed a little too loud. The class he's in stumbled to a deafening silence. There suddenly was an imaginary spotlight over him for all the eyes are focused on him. His invisibility wore off again, and he prayed to every deity out there to just let his metal chair consume him.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Parker?" Mrs. Halberd glared at him through her spectacles, the worry lines on her forehead looking a bit familiar. Shit. He caused trouble again.

"N-no." It was his turn to stutter. "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Halberd didn't pushed, and neither do Ned, which he was thankful for. His best friend remained worried, though, and that downright infuriated him. There's nothing to worry about — he's good, it's a normal day. Nothing new.

Lunch time came. Peter claimed his spot on their usual table. Ned and MJ are still in their classes and they won't be here until after a few more minutes. There was a lone girl sitting across him a few tables away. She's probably another senior girl. She met his gaze, and she twirled her boxer braids with her fingers and it was all Peter needs to be frozen on his own seat doing his best not to crap his pants. Penis Parker washes his face with toilet water, cums without his own consent, but he won't crap his pants designer or not. He's not five.

The girl kept ogling him, her green eyes leaving a sticky hot trail on their wake. Her gaze drifted on his face and his crotch under the table, chewing on his glossy lip as she gets to the latter.

Peter squirmed. His eyes are starting to water again. He decided to just eat his meal and get out of the lunch hall ASAP. He focused on the tastes, the textures of his meal. He is aware that he ate like a starved kid, but that doesn't matter. He's not going to panic here, front and center. No. No.

MJ walked fast towards him when she arrived and sat across. She laid her bag beside her lunch tray and sprawled her arm on the other side. Peter murmured his thanks.

He'd like to say that his day went back to normal after that, but he can't lie for shit — not even towards himself.

Peter's afternoon classes seemed longer than they should be. He can swear that everybody is staring, gawking, waiting for him to be served on a platter for them to tear apart. He never yearned for home this badly. He'd like to be back in his bunk, back in Aunt May's loving arms. None of this is normal. This isn't him.

But maybe it **is** him. He's all kinds of fucked up after all. He is a freak spider bite or no spider bite.

Peter was almost relieved when it was finally time to go home. Maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance that his day could redeem itself and be normal. Flash would ambush him, maybe give him a swirlie on the toilet or make him dive on a dumpster. He'll clean up either way and then he'll head to Mr. Delmar's and grab a sandwich. He'll go home, kiss his aunt on the cheek and inform her he'll be out all night on patrol. He'll be Spiderman again. He'll be perfect, even for a few hours. Perfect. Invincible. Domineering.

He can't believe he is now looking forward to Flash picking on him.

So when the person mentioned appeared from somewhere in the gates he had to practically stop himself from jumping out of sheer joy. "Penis!" He called out. Yes, that's him. That's him. Flash gave him a sidehug and urged him to walk with him. Today is probably dumpster day.

Flash did brought him to the familiar alleyway. Peter braced himself for the dive, but it never came. Flash is still smirking at him, but why isn't he doing anything?

"Do me a favor, Parker?" He grinned toothily at him, as if they were pals. It irked him. "Could you give me the number of the slut you hooked up with on Alice's party?"

Peter's vision dimmed. His feet was cold, and he was there again. He's starting to smell the air humidifier in that room. "S-slut?" He was shaking, but Flash dismissed it as being his awkward self.

"Yes, Parker." He spoke as if he's speaking to a child. "The slut blowing your dick in your sextape? I bet fifty bucks she's fine as hell. You were enjoying yourself."   
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Afterburn II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this waaaay earlier thanks to lots of class suspensions. Chose to finish this instead of my lab reports and workshits because they're boring as hell, and I don't want the idea to slip.
> 
> OH. AND JUST A HEADS UP, there's a graphic depiction of rape at the beginning of this chapter. Plus more angst.

_The video starts at a_ _worm's_ _eyeview_ _of Peter's bare torso sprawled on the bed. The phone she's holding is situated just below his happy trail, a thin layer of brown curly tufts of hair.  The light source originates from his right, bathing half of him in warm hues as if the blush on his neck and chest weren't enough pops of color. He was looking up the ceiling, his chest is heaving erratically, and his hands are gripping the thick sheets beside him. Moonlight as well as party lights flashed from the window, which is probably a long stretch away from the bed. Neither reached him, no, but it did strobed random streaks of light on the wall on occasion. The only sound the feed has caught is Peter's ragged breathing as well as the girl's erotic noises and husky_ _exhales_ _, obviously an attempt to downplay the boy underneath her. Her left hand crawled over his naked body, making him writhe. She traced his toned abdomen with her red nail, slowly making her way upwards to his chest. She poked at his nipple, which made him jump, but she held him down by sprawling his hand towards his surface and giving him a quick push. The_ _bitch_ _giggled and proceeded to tweak the teat between her fingers. Peter whined like a kicked puppy.  "Such a boy." She sighed. She moved the phone, which distorted the film slightly. She stopped her_ _ministrations_ _on his chest and proceeded to backtrack down his torso as she moved the phone back so that she'll be filming his erect member as well as a portion of his thighs decorated with small purple hickeys. She wrapped her hand around his shaft and pumped. "Don't worry, Peter Parker. I'll make a man out of you."_

_"Please." Peter squeaked. The film caught a faint sob. "No...more...please..." He hicupped between gasps. The light caught the flimsy snot running out of his nose. The hand around him clenched and pumped harder. "No...more...please..."  He conveniently squirmed underneath her touch, desperately trying to break hold, but the short puffs of power he managed weren't enough to brush her off. "Stop...no...more..." It came off as a whimper._

_The_ _bitch_ _dramatically exhaled on his member, making him hitch violently. Peter's grip on the sheets were getting tighter, his hands shaking badly. "I hate teasing you. You're too cute to be teased." She popped her tongue out and gave him a lick on his head. A soft cry was heard. "Tasty." She moved the phone again, and this time, the frame caught the_ _bitch's_ _side, face covered in thick, messy sidebangs as well as wild locks of her licorice hair save for her lips as if it couldn't get any more convenient on as well as Peter's frail body that barely reached his neck. The shot is against the lighting, hence the silhouettes. She wrapped her lips around his head, and as her arm went up his body again, she lowered herself slowly. She groaned loudly when she reached the hilt, and she opted to tug at his nipple again for leverage. The_ _bitch_ _made loud, wet slurping noises as she bobbed her head up and down his member. She almost covered Peter's cries. Almost._

_Peter's whole body is now shown trembling. There was a shudder, and Peter let out a strained yelp. His hips snapped forward reflexively, and then the twitchy boy was squirming again. It may seem like he's thrusting his_ _cock_ _deeper down her throat, but one look at his hands trying to pull himself up and anybody with half a brain can deduct that he's fighting, that he's desperately trying to lurch out of the bed. The faster she bobbed her head, the more he squirmed._

_A few seconds later, she pulled off, gagging. Peter's_ _cock_ _throbbed_ _. "_ _Precum_ _." She groaned. The_ _bitch_ _smacked her lips_ _exaggeratedly_ _. "Tastes good. Would like to have more, but..." She grabbed a pillow, positioned it to the side, and propped her phone against it. The frame now caught Peter's face from the side albeit a silhouette. "I'm not letting you_ _cum_ _, baby boy." She ruffled his hair. Peter stubbornly shook his head, which earned him another laughing fit from the girl. "We'll go there together. I'd like to teach you a thing or two, if you don't mind." She lifted his leg and held it up. Peter whined again. He_ _flailed_ _the leg in the air wildly. "No! No!" His whole body trashed weakly._

_"Yes, Peter." She_ _cooed_ _. "You don't wanna_ _cum_ _in under a minute. It's gonna be embarrassing for you. The trick I'm gonna be teaching you involves pain." The_ _bitch_ _paused. "My gay friends told me that it hurts less with lube or spit, so I guess we'll do this the dry way."_

"STOP IT!"

It was Pepper who shouted the command at Friday who complied immediately. The hologram slowly faded back inside her desk to nothing, and with it, her yell started dissipating across the room. She is gripping the sides of her office chair, a very upset look on her pretty face. Rhodey jumped out of the spot he's been standing on beside Tony, while Attorney Alfred Kingsman — who was seated across her fiancé — has a grim look on his face, a polar opposite of his stiff posture, posh business attire, and professionalism leaking through his pores. It did complimented his receding hairline.

And Tony?

He is still seeing red. His wide heated gaze remained on the empty space between him and Pepper as if the hologram is still there. His fists are balled on his lap, clenching a non-existent stress ball, and his chest is heaving. Despite that, he's awfully still.

That was the longest two minutes of his life.

The video clip was five minutes and thirty eight seconds long. Tony had stumbled upon it earlier this morning, just after Peter had left for school. He was hacking through the bitch's phone in his lab, using every bit of resource he has to track any sort of incriminating evidence. He knows that his testimony as well as the photograph Friday has snapped is more than enough, but he knows he has to cover all the bases. He'll trap the bitch. He hacked through the social security for her parents, and sure enough, the phone is bought under their name. He then grabbed the smartphone's serial number, as well as her network provider's IP address. He did it all without a trail. In a matter of minutes, he gained access to every single data in Alice Mary Tinsley's phone — her contacts, her social media, her phone activity, among others. Friday has informed him of a video filmed using the phone's camera hardware and is then sent to a Barbara Hicks as an attachment in an email sent yesterday morning. The thumbnail prompted him to exit, but he did ordered his AI to have a look at all social networking and, hell, even porn sites for any clips that resembled the one Alice filmed while mentally counting from one to a hundred to contain his rage. Friday didn't have to take long; there were already a bunch of clips all over Twitter, hence why the task was an easy one. Attorney Kingsman came over after lunch, and Tony had triumphantly informed him of one more evidence against an eighteen year old sex offender: the child porno she may have just redistributed, which also is another concrete evidence in favor of their case. The good lawyer had politely asked if they all could view it at once. "I need you to verify if that clip is really the tape. You were the one who found it after all." He reasoned out. Without hesitation, Tony said yes and led them all to Pepper's office inside their penthouse.

He really should stop making decisions on short notice.

Turns out it was one of the dumbest ideas he ever made. Peter's words never left his ears while remnants of the clips clouded his vision in crimson. The veins inside his heart are getting narrower by the second. His lungs sucked in more air in deep inhales, which he expunged out of his system slowly in a vain attempt to calm himself down. His skin is coated in prickly heat. His eyes need bleaching. His brain hurts. His heart aches painfully. His teeth are grounding each other. Thank god he barely ate anything for lunch or else he would be puking his guts out on Pepper's floor. Tony doesn't want to move, not one bit. He's afraid that if he will, he'll lose it. He'll explode. Nobody in this room deserves to be scorched in his white hot rage.

"Breathe, Tones." Rhodey was suddenly beside him, a hand patting his back gently. Tony followed the pats as a pattern of sorts for his lungs to follow. His airway tasted like burned rubber. Each puff of air passing through felt like a desert wind. "C'mon."

"She's begging to be put on jail." Kingsman quipped, a reassurance that did little to reassure him.

"If I get my hands on that cunt," Tony growled through his gritted teeth. "She'll be begging for her life."

Tony remembered faintly how awkward Peter was when he first met him. He's merely a boy, a ball of nervous energy that he spews all over the place. A boy who can barely manage his fanboy tendencies especially in the first phases of Tony recruiting him. Hell, he even told Steve how much of a fan he is even if he was required to web him and his rogue friends up. A boy ecstatic over the fact that he can keep the suit so he can help the little people. A boy so eager to prove himself worthy of the suit, which inevitably led to a lot of duds but because he's Peter, he strived for retribution. A boy who chose to serve the little ones in favor of saving the world as an Avenger.

A boy.

He's just a boy who deserves better.

And Alice Mary Tinsley is just a girl who deserves something worse than jail time.

Rhodey squeezed his shoulder, "How about we try and set your goal in sending her to jail? I don't think Ross —"

"I don't give a damn what Ross thinks!" Tony snarled, his frigid knees bouncing. He felt bad snapping at his best friend, whose gentleness in his tone means to console him somehow, but it had to be addressed. He's getting tired of making decisions for the sake of pleasing somebody — and the incident pushed him close to burning out. Your father would not like that, your dad hates that, your father would not appreciate that, yada yada. He became a good boy, a really obedient son. What did he reaped from that? Satisfaction from him and from other people. Satisfied because he met expectations, satisfied because he did what is expected of him.

But satisfied doesn't mean happy.

He's more than willing to kill the bitch if he had to. What's one more drop of blood in his hands, anyways?

"Tony." Pepper stood up and leaned towards him. "We all understand whatever you are thinking right now, but please do not let your anger get the best of you." She said as if she read his mind, felt the boiling emotions inside. How empathic. How Mary Sue of her — which he appreciates, given how all kinds of wrong he is, a dash of righteousness would always be nice.

"Just..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed circles on it. His own anger is starting to seep inside his head, constricting his windpipe little by little and dimming his vision  in the process  It hurt.

Tony pressed himself further inside the plush seat and gripped at the armrests. Warily, he opened his.eyes. Kingsman looks indifferent. Pepper won't take her eyes full of concern off him. Her engagement ring glinted from her finger, an encouraging wink.   
The afternoon sun is glaring at the skies from the glass pane. Paperwork is strewn haphazardly on her desk. That's five. Good. He checked on himself. His breathing still feels ragged, but it became stronger in a sense. The knots inside his chest loosened up a bit, but it still is tight.

Not enough.

Tony ran his hands slowly on the armrest in sync with his breathing. He let himself feel the texture of the leather, the glossy finish slippery against his skin. He planted his feet firmly on the marble tiles beneath him. Where did he imported the stuff again? Somewhere from Italy, right. Six digits has never felt this solid. Rhodey stopped squeezing his shoulder, but his hand is still there warm and pleasant. The strength in the firmness of his grip reminded him of his days in the military. What else? Right. The shirt he's wearing — a plain white tee with minimal cat paw print in black — is a testament on how three digits can be really soft.

His ragged breathing came in more evenly. His blood is roaring, but his heart now at least keeps up with it.

Tony sighed in relief.

"Updates about the warrant of arrest?" Tony masked his frustration. It wasn't hard — his lawyer reeks of professionalism, and therefore is more boring than paint drying. He has a point of reference.

"Being processed, as we speak." Kingsman nodded. "I'll give the NYPD a heads-up on the new lead. Where is she studying?"

"Midtown Tech." Tony bit his lip. "It's in Queens. She goes to the same school as him. Senior year."

Kingsman clasped his hands. "Then I'll make an appointment to meet their principal and inform him about the video as well."

"Boss?"

Tony's head jerked up the ceiling. "Karen has alerted me regarding Spiderman's status." Friday said. "It seems he has sustained notable injuries which include —"

"Tell me the run down later in the lab." Tony jumped off his seat and headed for the door. Good thing Friday hadn't addressed the superhero by his real name. Not that he doesn't trust his lawyer, but Peter's alter ego is something that should be disclosed by him and only him by choice. Rhodey cleared his throat, prompting him to turn back. "Sorry." He said, "Avenger business." And walked off without another word.

"Friday, tell Cho she is needed in the medbay." Tony commanded as he brisked toward his lab. He grabbed a swivel chair and went for his workstation, "Where is Peter?"

"He is currently at a deli three blocks away from their apartment complex." Part of him wanted to feel relieved upon hearing that. Maybe Peter decided to sit down and grab a bite before heading to the nearest hospital. "Security footage indicates that he is currently engaging a small group of robbers."

"What?!" Tony snapped. "Current state of the suit?"

"The Spiderman suit has sustained at most 31% damage both on its external and internal components." Friday has taken initiative to flash him a hologram of the suit in front of him. The AI highlighted the parts where the suit has taken damage. There are a handful of scrapes from the limbs. The left eye on the mask is beeping a deep red. There was also a lone graze on the right shoulder and on the inner  left thigh. A long, thin cut chipped away at the chest area.

"Friday, run vitals." He immediately said upon assessment. He has about a hundred ideas on how Peter got the injuries, none of them good.

"Peter's heart rate is at 142 beats per minute. Respiration rate is averaged at 34 breaths per minute. Temperature is at 99 degrees Fahrenheit." Friday paused, edging his suspense at another level. "It was noted by Karen that his heart rate has ranged within 143 and 154 on average  when he put on the suit, and his breathing pattern hints that Peter is in distress when he donned the suit."

_That_ straight up puzzled him. Why would Peter Parker, one of the smartest kids of his generation, would go on patrol despite being on the verge of panicking? He knew better than to ignore the signs. This is so unlike him.

"Injuries?" He murmured.

"Peter tripped and scraped himself when he landed on gravel at a construction site as per the Baby Monitor Protocol reports. He received a knuckled punch on his left eye. A total of two bullets fired on separate occasions grazed his shoulder and his thigh. The cut from down his chest area is caused by a military grade knife." Friday confirmed some of the worst conclusions he's had in mind, which didn't helped on his heart rate at all.

"Pull up a live stream of the Baby Monitor." Tony braced himself on his seat, clasped his arms, and watched as his AI materialized a screen for him, bathing him in blue light.

Peter was practically wheezing his lungs out when the feed started. Tony stared in horror as he saw through Peter's eyes that the cashier is being held hostage, a gun pointed towards his head by a man wearing a ski mask and a tight turtleneck that emphasized his beer gut. There was a deafening silence inside the place, and the only source of noise for the speakers to project is Peter's labored breathing. In a panic, the boy looked around him. The patrons were smart enough to duck beneath the wooden tables, but they were still trembling with fear. Peter nearly tripped on something, which earned him a startled yelp, but he immediately regained his footing and stared at the culprit — a broken chair leg. One of the robbers were webbed on the floor on their stomach.

"His heart rate is spiking to 148 and counting." Friday softly informed him as the room was filled with Peter's strangled pants. The boy let out a pained gasp and winced, clutching his side as he gazed at the scenario in front of him. One look at the suit's status and, sure enough, there was damage on the right side. He really should give the Iron Spider to the boy so the Spandex can now retire. "A bruise between his fourth and fifth rib was detected."

"Did it damaged his lung?"

"His enhanced regeneration seems to be working on it."

Tony lurched forward, his heart hammering inside his chest. "I'll shoot." Ski mask man said. His tone and his steady grip on the gun cocked on the lady's temple tells him he's not bluffing. "I don't wanna hurt anyone, I just need the money."

Tony waited for a witty retort from Peter. When he feels particularly bored or stressed, he pulls out the records from the protocol and watches them in the comfort of the four walls of his lab. Peter loves taunting his targets, something only he can do as Spiderman. If his pulled punches didn't hurt, his mouthing off certainly will. If Pepper gets a hand on one of the clips, she'll say the kid has been hanging out with him too much. But an encounter with Spiderman is not complete without a healthy supply of verbal assault.

Seconds passed, and not a single comment on how the gunman's get up makes him unworthy of serious deals.

Okay, maybe Peter is just trying to catch his breath, trying to stabilize himself. Except Tony has browsed each and every single one of the feeds, and even if Spiderman is drained to the bone, is hurt to the point of passing out, a retort, a hefty comeback, anything of that sort is always spilled, and it would lighten the mood, forcing him to calm down for a few seconds.

Peter never said anything, and Tony is on the verge of losing his shit again. Two times in under an hour is definitely a new record.

"Please tell me the NYPD is on its way." Tony gulped a lump down his throat.

"Two patrol cars are certainly on their way." Friday said. "ETA: 2 minutes."

"Hang in there, kid." Tony hummed under his breath, wide eyes boring holes all over the feed.

Peter seemed to hear the sirens coming. "T-the police are coming." Tony found the statement as odd for the simple reason that Peter never stutters as Spiderman. "You'll be surrounded. Just...just drop your gun and give up." How blunt. How straightforward. How unlike him. There really is something going on.

"Bullshit!" Ski Mask man fired at Peter. He didn't even made an effort to try and dodge it, which made Tony's heart stop for a moment when the boy closed his eyes and flinched. The sound roared against his left ear, sending a screeching boom on the speakers and delivered a disarming shock on his nerves in the process. _Peter!_ He wanted to call out for the boy, but he can't afford to be distracted. Not by one bit. "I'm taking my money and I will be leaving unscathed." He cocked the gun back to the cashier's temple, who let out a soft cry.

The robber started walking sideways out of the counter struggling to keep his hostage in check while carrying his hefty backpack (the money is probably there) on his back. It would've been a funny sight, except the soft pings indicating Peter's vitals are holding every laugh. The man cussed under his breath as Peter watched him helplessly. "Good boy." He taunted as he walked past Peter, greed shining in his eyes in gold flecks. Peter's breath hitched. "You keep your nose to yourself, eh, kid? Go home, do your homework, and let the adults do their thing. Come back when you're old enough to drink."

"Friday, call him." Tony tensed when he saw his heart rate spike even more — and felt his own increase bit by bit too. The call connected almost immediately. "Kid?" He softly said. Peter didn't seem to hear him. "Can you hear me? Say something."

"Can't breathe." Peter gasped. Tony gauged that he really is in distress and that it is affecting him as if his run down on his vitals weren't enough. Peter tends to be more honest on his condition when he's in pain.

"Inhale, kid." Tony nervously tapped his fingers on the table. "C'mon, breathe for me. Inhale...exhale..." he coaxed gently, his own heart racing inside his chest. Peter followed suit, albeit exaggeratedly. His loud attempts filled his lab with white noise. Tony glanced at the kid's vitals. Far from good, but his heart and breathing rate toned down by a tick.

"I know you are aware of this, but you have 576 combination on your web shooters." Tony calmly pointed out. "One of them is spider venom." He were dubious at first whether he should include that combination upon making, but he ultimately decided it would be beneficial for situations like this. Peter could fire a web needle on the man's thigh. It wouldn't even hurt — probably. The toxin he designed would travel into his system fast and would knock him unconscious for half an hour. Should be enough time for the police to put him behind bars.

"I don't wanna kill anybody." Peter murmured.

"That's not actual venom." Tony immediately pointed out. "But it would knock him down."

"Him?" Peter sounded shocked. "Mr. Stark, are you —"

"Yes." Tony sighed. "I'll tell you about it after this fiasco. Head to my lab."

"I can't." Peter squeaked. "I-I'm Spiderman. I'm supposed to go on patrol. Save people. Get hurt."

Tony didn't like what he heard. He really needs to call his therapist. "Spiderman, you are not going to go on patrol again after you dealt with that robber. You are going to my lab, you are going to get yourself checked, and you are going to tell me how are you feeling."

"But —"

"Peter." Tony's brain ached. There was an audible sigh on the other line. "Fine." Peter doesn't sound too enthusiastic about it. "I gotta go."

Turns out Helen had prepped the Cradle after Tony hung up, clearly expecting for the worst. That must be why she seems a little annoyed when Tony dragged Spiderling to the med bay. He handed him a hospital gown and gestured for him to change at the provided stall. He stepped out looking...well, pissed. The nasty black eye the size of a pomegranate added the desired effect. Like somebody has just taken his favorite toy to the closet because he's been playing with it too much, but he played it down to passive indifference. He obediently sat on the hospital bed where Cho has directed him with a slight scowl.

Tony knows what he's thinking — he's supposed to be out there looking out for the little guy. He'll get there, but he'll have to recover first. _I'm supposed to be in patrol. Save people. Get hurt._

_Get hurt._ Tony tasted something sour inside his mouth. He hoped the kid seriously doesn't mean that statement much.

He gave Helen the run down of the boy's injuries while Peter stared at his hands. Helen wasn't impressed, but she doesn't seem to mind. She did overprepared, but on her defense he didn't informed her on what she will be dealing with so he'll share his portion of the blame. "I won't be bothered treating anybody next time without the particular data I need." She seemed amused when she said it. Helen doesn't mean any of the words she just said, and she smiled fondly at Peter.

Tony can't help but grin on the inside. The kid does a pretty good job at _that._

Unfortunately for him, Peter noticed how Helen is staring at him. He jumped on his seat and slowly, painstakingly inched himself away from her. Helen took note of that too. "Is he afraid of doctors?" She whispered to him with a frown.

"I'll tell you all about it." Tony gruffly said. "Later, when he's out of the woods."

"Out of the woods?" Helen's eyes crinkled with humor. "Mama bear, none of his injuries are worth writing home about." She rolled her eyes and attended to Peter, who shrinked just a bit more when she approached him.

"Kiddo, it's fine." Tony felt compelled to say. "She's just a doctor. She's fine. It's fine. Just let her do her thing."

Peter's eyes glazed. Tony immediately looked away and contemplated just what he had done again. He watched in the corner of his eye as Peter chewed on his trembling lip. His grip on the sheets were strong, and Tony sincerely hoped that Helen wouldn't notice.

Helen coaxed him to relax. She asked him where it hurts. "M-my side." Peter winced. "My eye hurts."

Helen settled for sanitizing the cuts he have all over his body while getting him to press an ice pack on his swollen eye. She scraped off the blood with alcohol and cotton balls. Most of them are already healing thanks to his regeneration. She dressed the wound on his shoulder which he got from a bullet graze for good measure. She eyed the specks of blood spurting from his thigh. Peter noticed that and let out a pained gasp.

Helen looked Tony in the eyes, a silent question being thrown at him out of sympathy. Tony looked down on his flip flops, unsure how to respond. _Yes, he got raped by a cougar. He's probably scared of women because of that._ Tony cringed. It's not his place to babble about stuff like that.

"Hey." Helen pulled off her hands to herself. "Would you like to clean your graze on your thigh yourself? You don't want that to get infected." Peter eagerly nodded. Sighing in relief, Helen handed him the alcohol, the cotton balls, and the tweezers. "Tell me when you're done, okay?"

Helen stood up and faced Tony. She was aware of the lawsuit Stark intends to file. The press and the lawyers she gets to pass by on the hallways of the compound attest to that. She makes it a habit to read the news on her spare time. She saw the boy cleaning his wound tenderly at the back of her head, then the particular headlines flashed across her. The lawsuit was the final straw.   
  


"May I go back patrolling now, please?"

Peter spilled it out when the good doctor left them for some privacy. He said it so quietly that it actually unsettled Tony. "No." Tony firmly said. It might take a lot of effort, but he'll resist the puppy doe eyes. He have to.

"I'm fine, Mr. Stark." Peter gestured at his almost healed wounds. "I can be Spiderman again. Please?"

"You're not fine." Tony blurted out. He mentally slapped himself when Peter looked at him blankly. "Your suit needs repair, your wounds need healing, and you need to tell me what is going on." He said it softly, but Peter looked like he was kicked.

"But I'm already healing!"

"I can see that." Tony shrugged. "But your suit doesn't have your regenerating powers. Not that I would let you if it's intact." He added as an afterthought. "You need rest, but you also need to talk about it."

"Talk about what?" Peter arched an eyebrow.

"Whatever's going on with you right now."

Peter blinked. He shook his head stubbornly. "I'm fine." He parroted. "I don't know what is happening, but I'm fine." He said it as more of an assurance to himself.

"Peter, you are too smart to play dumb." Tony said exasperatedly. "I know I'm bad at stuff like this, but please just talk about it. You need to. You have to."

"I know I need to fulfill my duties as Spiderman." Peter scowled at him. Red flags are raised everywhere. "Because I am Spiderman. I'm not Penis Parker. I am perfect, and I am capable of doing my shit —look out for the little people. Get hurt or even die if I have to. So—"

"Peter!" Tony chided.

"—please stop acting like you're my dad and take my word for it." Peter venomously rebutted, leaving Tony shell shocked and astounded. "I'm sorry." Peter reflexively said when the horror of what he had just told him sunk in. "But I'm too smart, as you put it. That means I know what I'm saying. So if I say, 'I'm fine', then I'm fine." Tony would've believed him if he didn't sound so lifeless and mechanical. Peter got off the bed, slipped the provided room slippers on and headed for the door without another word, leaving Tony alone with his self-degrading thoughts as he watched him limp away.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize in advanced if delays on chapters would occur again. I can already forsee the incoming week to be really bloody and holistically taxing. Wish me luck.


End file.
